The Good Egg
by Channel D
Summary: Tim rarely gets hurt out in the field. Is there a reason for that? Of course there is, or there would be no reason for this story! Crack!fic drama written for the NFA Why Are You Torturing McGee? challenge. One-shot.


**The Good Egg**

**by channelD**

_written for:_ the NFA _Why Are You Torturing McGee?_ Challenge. The objective was to present a situation, in any genre, with McGee being tortured. :)

_rating_: K plus

_genre_: crack!fic; no doubt

_characters_: Tim, the team, and lots of bad guys

_spoiler warning_: very vague things that might be season 6 spoilers

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_disclaimer_: I own nothing of NCIS.

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**One**

Speaker 1: Big Frankie

_Slap! _"You gonna tell me what I wanna know?!" _Slap!_ "You don't look tough enough to hold out for long…" _Slap!_

I couldn't believe my eyes. I had taught Blue-eyed Billy everything he knew about The Business, and this is how he repays my expert tutelage?

My henchmen could hardly keep up with me as I raced to get inside the interrogation room. "Billy! What do you think you're doing?! _Why_ are you torturing McGee?!" I cried.

He stopped the slapping, and turned his round face toward me. "Boss! I was just softening him up for you…"

_Minions!_ "This is _McGee,_ Billy! We never, but _never,_ hurt McGee." The federal agent's face was bloody and bruised, and he looked a little groggy, but there was still some fire in those green peepers. Carefully I undid the ropes that bound him to the chair. "McGee. My sincerest and humblest apologies. That was not supposed to happen. These recruits—"

McGee felt his jaw tenderly, winced, and got to his feet with just a few wobbles. "I understand, Big Frankie."

Whadda guy. He is so all-fired noble, and _good,_ in the sense that my sainted mother meant it. And yet he's a fed. But a fed with a heart; doing his job with consideration for all the people. He's never been rough, or mean, or cruel to anyone I know. Maybe that's why the underworld likes McGee. The Business don't usually interact with NCIS stuff, but sometimes we do. Crime is 90% opportunity, ya know? And we gotta be where Opportunity is knocking. If that involves the Navy or the Marines, so be it.

I brushed rope threads off his jacket, and handed him his cap. A couple snaps of my fingers and Blue-eyed Billy handed back McGee's badge and gun. And the bullets. And his cell phone. And his wallet. And the cash he'd taken out of it. "Laslo! George!" I barked. "Drive Agent McGee back to the Navy Yard. And stop along the way and buy him a double Americano. He likes those."

McGee looked a trifle embarrassed. Modest fellow. "That's not necessary, Big Frankie. I just need to get back to work."

"Yeah? Did you get what you came here for? What _did_ you come here for?"

He looked surprised. "Here? Nothing! I was on my way back from interviewing someone down the street, and your man jumped me."

"I remembered his picture from somewhere, boss," Billy whined. "And since he was obviously a fed—"

"His picture's on our wall as someone we respect and protect, you idiot!" I roared. "_No one_ gets to hurt McGee!!"

I saw McGee out to one of the staff cars. "I most sincerely hope that this regrettable incident does not put a cloud over our friendship, McGee."

McGee winced, and maybe I had laid it on a little thick. But I meant it.

Who couldn't help liking McGee?

- - - - -

Speaker 2: Feng

Yo; that McGee; he's like one of the boys, you know? Not that I could ever picture him in a gang. He's a copper, through and through. But he's fair and has earned respect. Not like some of them others. McGee's always been square with us.

So me and my boys have the word out: _Don't you be touching McGee._ Just walk away from him. Nice and slow like. Don't hurt him, don't dis him. You don't gotta like him, you know, but leave him be.

I'd like to think that all the other gangs act the same way. But, they're _gangs_, you know?

- - - - -

Speaker 3: Paisleygrrl

I'd never say that a McGee was what I'd be looking for in a man. But that doesn't mean I can't respect the dude. My women and I have a nice operation going on; we usually exclude men because they're too much of a distraction. My sister in lock-up in the Maryland State Women's Prison had nothing but good to say about him after she met him when he got shut in there.

Not that I could ever see me settling down with his type, despite that adorable baby face. I'm too deep into the operation to lead a respectable life, like my mother did; with a nice little house and a white picket fence around the yard. But, I can always dream.

In the meantime, I don't want any of my women touching a hair on that beautiful, brown-haired head of his. Timothy McGee is an alright guy. They don't make many of them anymore.

- - - - -

_Present day…_

"Gear up!" said Gibbs. "Dead seaman at Rock Creek Park."

Tony hesitated. "Boss…McGee isn't back yet. He should have been here by—"

"I'm back," said Tim, grimacing a bit as he walked out of the elevator. The side of his mouth hurt where one of Blue-eyed Billy's blows had landed.

"McGee!" The sight of his battered face brought Ziva to her feet. "What happened…?"

"Who did that to you, McGee?" Gibbs asked evenly, trying to read his eyes.

"It doesn't matter," said Tim, keeping cool. "It was a misunderstanding."

"McGee, assaulting a federal agent is—"

Gibbs continued to study Tim. Finally he said, "Go see Ducky, then take it easy for awhile. We've just been called out."

"Boss, I can—"

"Tell me later," said Gibbs. "Let's go," he said to Tony and Ziva.

"But, boss…" Tony cast a glance back at Tim. It might have been worried, or it might have been just insanely curious.

Tim knew that Tony didn't know how Big Frankie felt. Neither did Ziva. Did Gibbs know? Maybe. Maybe not.

- - - - -

Tim wasn't sent out into the field for the next couple of days. The only explanation given by Gibbs for that was that maybe Tim was still having a hard time seeing out of his blackened eye.

Usually, being left behind irked Tim a bit; as if he was _not good enough_, or else needed _protection_ from the big, bad world. But right now, he didn't mind so much. The beating from Billy bothered him much more than he dared show in any way.

The truth was, Tim had long ago earned the kid-glove treatment from most of the local criminal groups…and that was what had kept him relatively unscathed in his time in Washington. Tony had taken plenty of lumps; he had no sympathy for the crooks, nor they for him. But Tim saw them as people…some of whom could even be classified as good, almost, were it not for a love for law-breaking.

**# # #**

**Two**

Speaker 1: Big Frankie

I didn't give the order for it. I swear. It just happened.

No, I'm not going to say who done it. He will be punished. That's all.

- - - - -

_Present day…_

"Another body in Rock Creek Park," said Gibbs on a later day. "They've almost become a tourist attraction. Let's go."

Ziva and Tony rose, but Gibbs waved Ziva back down. "You continue to follow the leads on the other case. McGee, you're with us today."

Tim's face was almost back to normal; just a yellow field that marked the retreating bruises. His spirits had never flagged; he had never seemed "down" about the beating, and he steadfastly refused to talk about it. After awhile, his teammates had stopped asking.

It was a normal call out, this trip to Rock Creek Park. Until…Tim went out of Gibbs' and Tony's sight, sent down a path alone to look for clues. He didn't come back.

It took his team almost half an hour to find him. He was lying on his back in a gulley; his nose just an inch away from the little running stream that splashed over the rocks. Bloody, broken, and blessedly unconscious, Tim was in no position to name his assailant.

Gibbs cursed and then phoned for Ducky. The M.E.'s face was troubled when he saw the fallen agent, and he could only berate Gibbs for not having called for an ambulance already.

"Who could have done this?" Tony wondered aloud. "These things just don't happen to McGee, for some reason!"

"I don't know," said Gibbs. "I couldn't begin to guess."

**# # #**

**Three**

Tony and Gibbs were at Tim's bedside when Ziva arrived at the hospital two hours after they did, having fought a losing battle with traffic. "Any change?" she asked in a hushed tone.

"No," Tony said tiredly, his eyes not leaving the still figure in the bed. "He hasn't woken up yet. They're hoping the internal bleeding will stop by itself; it isn't very much. So he's avoided the knife for the time being but…man! Someone really pounded him."

"I would not have expected this," Ziva said sadly. "It has been almost like he is _immune_ to this sort of thing."

Gibbs silently agreed. He'd often wondered why McGee had seemed to be…_charmed,_ for lack of a better word. It couldn't just be because he was the one usually left at HQ. Tim just rarely got hurt in the field. NCIS' insurance company loved him for that.

"Agent Gibbs?" A nurse was holding the door open. "Technically, Agent McGee shouldn't have more than two visitors at a time, and, well, there are other people who'd like to see him. Pay their respects, as they're saying."

"Pay their…are these NCIS people?" Gibbs asked, wondering who at NCIS would say that. Not Abby; she'd just barge her way in.

"I…don't think so," said the world-weary nurse. "I don't think they're federal agents at all."

"Well, McGee can spare us for five minutes, I guess," said Tony, getting to his feet. "You hear that, McGee? We'll be back in five. Give you a chance to be with your geeky playmates."

"I don't think they're geeks," said the nurse, shaking her head at the thought. "And it'll take a lot longer than five minutes to cycle all of them through."

"This I've gotta see," said Tony. He and Gibbs walked out, leaving Ziva with Tim.

About 100 feet away from Tim's room, hospital security was setting up ropes and stanchions. A line wound down the hall and out of sight; a line of not-particularly quiet people. Most were men, but there were a few women. Many of the men were in cheap or flashy suits; others wore street-savvy clothes like…_gang members_. Most avoided eye contact as Tony and Gibbs walked down the line.

The line stretched out into the hospital lobby, out the door, down the street, and around the corner. And more people were getting in line by the minute. Tony and Gibbs shook their heads in amazement. _All these seedy people to see McGee?! Why?!_

Some of the people in line bore flowers. Some carried boxes of candy, or cards. A few even had stuffed animals. Most chatted with each other, but several others were silent, and looked sad.

"Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs turned toward the meaty man in the expensive suit. "Yes?"

"Francis Donaldson. I'm not sure we ever formally met."

"Ah. 'Big Frankie'. Maybe we haven't. What do you know about—" Gibbs waved a hand at the line of well-wishers.

"Everyone's all broken up about what happened," said Big Frankie, looking a little downcast. "It's _McGee_, fer cryin' out loud. No one's supposed to hurt McGee. _Ever_."

"What do you mean, 'no one's supposed to hurt McGee'?" Tony demanded.

"It's the code of the streets," said Big Frankie. "We all like McGee. He's a good egg. See? Only for McGee would all these different families, gangs, and organizations be here, peaceable-like."

"Do you know who did this to him?" asked Gibbs, staring.

"No, but we'll find out. There aren't that many secrets in the District," said Big Frankie. "Well, I gotta go. My spot's towards the front of the line." So saying, he ambled off, leaving Gibbs and Tony with more questions than answers, but too stunned to move.

"Boss," said Tony, his throat dry, "who ordered underworld protection for McGee? Was it Vance?"

"It sounds like this goes back further. To Jenny, if anyone." He frowned. "Nah; we must be imagining it."

**# # #**

**Four**

They met in a room in a moderate hotel near Dulles airport. One ordered wine and hors d'oeuvres through room service.

"You haven't found out yet who beat McGee nearly to death?" one said quietly but with steel in his words.

"Working on it…"

"It has been over a week. I don't pay you to flimflasm me."

" 'Flimflam'," the other corrected mildly. "And no, I'm not flimflamming you. We'd just hate to declare the wrong man guilty."

"Yes, I'm sure that is a grave concern in your business."

The other man smiled. "You really must like McGee; supporting his protection like you do. Are you saving him up for your daughter, Eli?"

Eli David sniffed. "I would hope that she would marry within her faith. But… Ziva has a mind of her own. If she chooses Timothy McGee, I would not be unhappy."

"So the protection continues, with your blessing."

"It does. He is, as you say, a good egg."

-END-


End file.
